


Home is Weyr the Heart Is

by Ressick



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pern, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4090732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ressick/pseuds/Ressick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragons.  Thread.  Weyr politics.  Romance.  Did I mention DRAGONS?  A Pern AU inspired by all the Carmilla & dragon fanart on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is Weyr the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Pern belongs to Anne McCaffrey. Carmilla & Co belong to Jordan Hall/Ellen Simpson/Smokebomb/Kotex/le Fanu. I own nothing but my obsession with dragons and the plot.  
> A/N: I’ve not read all the Pern books, just a good chunk of the ones set in the 8th Interval/9th Pass that she wrote on her own up to _Skies of Pern_. I don’t claim to be 100% canon compliant and am in fact absolutely gleefully throwing out some elements of canon that have long bugged the crap out of me. Plus, AIVAS was discovered, but Thread isn’t gone.  
>  A/N2: Much of this story is set at the Great Bay Weyr, on the Southern Continent, which is of my own invention. It’s set at the tip of the peninsula which is the western boundary of Great Bay – the northernmost point of Cibola Province if you’ve seen the map in _Chronicles of Pern: First Fall_ or _Dragonsdawn_.  
>  A/N3: All the dragon names come from the [Arolos Weyr Pern Name Generator](http://www.arolosweyr.co.uk/arolos.php?p=ngen.php) because I am crap at coming up with dragon names.

Southern Weyr, 2 Turns before the 10th Pass

 

Carmilla crept quietly from the Candidate barracks to the hot sands of the Hatching Ground.  The moon was high, and even the dragonrider on guard was nodding off.  In her nightclothes and boots, Carmilla moved across the sands.  Her mother’s golden queen, who had behaved as more of a mother to her than the human woman who actually bore her, opened one great jeweled eye before shutting it softly.  Even between dragon and rider there could be secrets, and Numth was often quietly exasperated at her rider’s power madness.

 

She glanced only passingly at the golden queen egg her mother had pointed out soon after Numth had laid her clutch. Her mother envisioned a dynasty of gold riders ruling their weyr with an iron fist.  Carmilla, instead, honed in on the egg that had caught _her_ attention since the first time the Candidates had been brought to the Hatching Ground.  All of them had circled the eggs, and Carmilla had found herself drawn to this egg, on the opposite side from the queen. She didn’t know how much was her own rebellion, and how much was the unborn dragonet calling out to her, but she couldn’t resist these nighttime treks to the Hatching Ground to pour her heart out.  She approached “her” egg and laid a shaking hand on the warm smooth shell. Stepping closer, Carmilla pressed her lips to it, murmuring nonsense words and endearment as she rested her forehead against it.  There was only a few days at most until the Hatching, when her dream of being the rider to this egg’s dragon would either come true or be dashed on the hot sands.

 

Old for a Candidate – almost _too_ old by many standards, despite being a weyrbrat presented at every Hatching since she was ten – she knew how things went. She’d attended her first while still at her wetnurse’s breast.  So when she heard the rustle of the unborn dragonets all around her, she knew she needed to run.  To get back to the barracks before being caught on the Hatching Ground.  The dragon humming hadn’t started, she had time. And so she bolted.

 

She’d just slipped back into her bed when the hum began to reverberate around the entirety of the Weyr.  Within a minute, it seemed like the whole Weyr was awake as every single youth in her barrack hurried to don their Candidate robes and boots, as well as tidy up.  She slipped her feet back into her boots and ran a hand roughly through her messy hair. By the time the Weyrlingmaster arrived to escort them to the Hatching Grounds, everyone around her was buzzing with excitement and not a small amount of fear.

 

Carmilla kept her face blank, her eyes watching as they were all led to the Hatching Grounds.  Around them, dragonriders and weyrfolk hurried along the hallway half asleep.  The great sprawling Hatching Ground was surrounded by a mix of people and dragons, the humming of the dragons becoming louder and louder as time passed. The Weyrling Master spread the Candidates out, and a subtle glance from her mother meant that Carmilla was none-too-gently shoved towards the golden egg. 

 

Her heart pounding, she ignored the egg in front of her in favor of watching the one across the sands.  The first dragonet to escape their shell was a green, that wobbled over to a Searched candidate whose name she hadn’t even bothered to learn.  Ignoring the boy’s happy tears, she turned her eyes back to the egg she was most concerned with. It hadn’t even started to crack, and she frowned.

 

Over half of the forty eggs had hatched when both “her” egg and the golden egg split open at the same moment.  A reminder shove pushed her towards the gold dragonet stumbling from her egg towards a girl over a dozen yards away. As the girl Impressed her dragon, Carmilla could almost feel her mother’s hard, angry glare on her. But at the very moment she cringed instinctively, a cry came from the bronze dragonet that had just broken from his shell.  He bleated plaintively, his great whirling eyes searching the large crowd of Candidates who had yet to Impress.  Several boys stepped forward, almost to claim the dragonet, but he pushed past them – almost knocking two down and trampling them in his haste to move in her general direction.

 

She felt frozen.  Her mother’s anger held her powerless, her body tense. But there was another consciousness brushing against her own.  A near-panic as the crying of the bronze dragonet got louder.  Finally he face-planted in the hot sand a yard from her, and she lunged forward, kneeling so she could lay a shaking hand on the dragon’s snout.

 

Dragons had talked to her all her life. She wasn’t one who could Hear them all, but she had grown up around them, and as a curious child she’d snuck into individual weyrs while exploring or been assigned to help an elderly or disabled dragonrider give their dragon a good scrub and oiling. She’d made friends with some of the dragons that way, their bemused voices echoing in her mind.

 

But Impressing?  Being spoken to by a dragon was like a single harp, a delicate melody caressing the ear.  Impressing a dragon was like the Harper Hall Orchestra she heard once as a child, two dozen musicians playing in harmony, the sounds of the music enveloping her, chills running up and down her spine, her entire soul shuddering as the love her dragon had for her overwhelmed every sense.

 

Carmilla, who had not cried publicly since she was four years old, wept as she threw her arms around him.  _Are you sad?_

 

“No,” she sobbed into a warm, damp dragon neck. “I’m so happy.”

 

_I’m Larhalth. I’m hungry._

 

Rising shakily to her feet, she rubbed at her dragon’s eye ridge.  “Let’s get you fed then.”

 

X-X-X-X

 

One and a Half Turns Later

 

Carmilla sat astride Larhalth as they circled Great Bay Weyr.  When word had gotten out about the weyr’s quarantine five months ago, a chill had gone down every dragonrider’s spine.  A new fever, something unknown to any Healer on Pern, and confounding even the database at Landing, had swept through the Weyr and several of its neighboring Holds. Thousands of people had died, including three hundred and thirty-four dragonriders, whose bonded dragons had gone _Between_ immediately. The Weyr was devastated, its wings had huge gaps, and its Weyrleaders were dead.  The treatment – and inoculation – had been developed far too late to save most of those afflicted. 

 

With Threadfall starting in the next year, it was an untenable situation.  A hurriedly-called council of weyrleaders had decided that they could each spare a certain number of riders, who would join Great Bay Weyr on a permanent basis.  Most weyrleaders had asked for volunteers.  Carmilla’s mother had used the opportunity to rid herself of riders she disliked, her own daughter amongst them.  After a turn and a half of being an unforgiveable disappointment, Carmilla was relieved to be sent away.  Great Bay Weyr was a fresh start, where she could be just a dragonrider, instead of her mother’s daughter.  Her mind further in the clouds than she was, she was mildly surprised when Larhalth started to bank towards the ground.

 

Unlike the weyrs of the Northern Continent, Great Bay wasn’t carved entirely out of solid rock.  Some of the oldest sections were, of course, but the technological know-how unearthed at Landing during the 9th Pass had allowed a lot more growth all over Pern.  When the Weyr had been founded, it was the first to make use of solid stone and concrete buildings with metal roofs.  Still Thread-proof, it had allowed the weyr to sprawl out from the cliffs that dove down into the Great Bay which gave the weyr its name.

 

The center of the weyr – called the Bowl – was a great open field.  Carmilla was the first from Southern Weyr to arrive – her mother had sent her ahead, for which she was very thankful.  She’d be coordinating with the temporary Weyrwoman for the influx of riders following her in a sevenday.

 

Larhalth landed easily, despite the extra bulk of Carmilla’s personal belongings that he carried.  She felt mildly guilty for using her dragon as a draybeast, but Larhalth had merely whirled his great glittering eyes before insisting she bring all her things along at one go, including his favorite brush for oiling. She untied the great packs of clothes, books, and other items she’d brought, dropping them carefully to the ground before she followed. 

 

A frazzled woman with a riot of ginger curls noticed her landing, and hurried towards them.  “Hello, hello! Are you Carmilla, from Southern?” she asked, mopping her forehead under the midday sun.

 

“I am, and this is Larhalth,” Carmilla said, gesturing to her dragon.

 

She smiled, “Welcome, both of you. I’m Perry, our temporary Weyrwoman.” She almost choked after giving her name, obviously still upset by the death of her predecessor. She pointed to a nearby large blue dragon curled together with a green, both sunning themselves, “That’s my Fefaith.”

 

Carmilla’s eyes visibly widened.  A _blue_ rider was acting as Weyrwoman?

 

“We lost all our gold riders except for one Weyrling,” Perry choked out.  “And my mother was Headwoman; I grew up helping her before I Impressed.  I was the best option.”

 

A rider with short, spiky red hair trotted towards Perry as they spoke, a pile of papers in hand.  “Hey, Perr, have you heard from Southern yet?”

 

Perry rolled her eyes affectionately, “I was just introducing myself, honey.”  She turned her attention back to Carmilla, “This is Lafontaine, Ablith’s rider. They’re my weyrmate.” She tugged at Lafontaine’s dirty tunic, clucking her tongue before poking at their shoulder.  “This is Carmilla, Larhalth’s rider, from Southern.”

 

A wide, bright smile met Carmilla’s impassive face. “Hey!  How many folks are coming?  Any special needs?”

 

Carmilla pulled a sheaf of papers from the inner pocket of her flight jacket, “I have all the details here.  Names, dragons, miscellaneous skills and training. There are nine more coming.” She knew it was a poor showing from Southern – most weyrs were sending twenty or more riders.  But her mother had used the transfer as a method of punishment, and there were few who braved stepping out of line at Southern.

 

Perry and Lafontaine exchanged a startled glance, but the rumors about Carmilla’s mother circulated widely through the other weyrs. “Great Bay thanks Southern Weyr,” Perry stated formally, as she scanned the brief list.  Carmilla knew she was the only bronze rider coming. The others were brown, green, and blue riders, and two were only Weyrlings.

 

“Southern Weyr is pleased to offer its assistance,” Carmilla replied.  She shifted uncomfortably under the heat, stripping off her flight jacket and running a hand through her sweaty hair.

 

“Let’s take this inside, Perr, I think Carmilla could use a cold drink.”  Lafontaine turned to Larhalth, bowing slightly, “My Ablith would be happy to show you to the beach, if you’d like to get in the water.  She’ll take you right past the herdbeasts if you’re hungry.”  The green dragon rose from beside Fefaith and launched herself into the air, Larhalth following a moment later.

 

Carmilla smiled slightly as her dragon left – he was often to be found in the waters near Southern, swimming with the local shipfish and sunning himself.  “He’d never leave the shore if it was his choice,” she muttered.  She glanced over at Lafontaine, surprised still that this team of green and blue riders was basically running a weyr. It was against all tradition, but seemed to work.  Of course, Great Bay had a reputation since its founding of being rather rebellious. It was something she hoped was true, as tradition had done little to make her life easier.

 

Sitting inside the Council Room, Carmilla sipped at her fruit juice as she looked around.  Maps of all of Pern and of their specific region were displayed on one wall, displayed with pride despite their apparent age. The opposite wall was covered in a mix of papers and printouts, as well as a large pad of paper on which Lafontaine was making careful notes from the papers Carmilla had given them. Perry was typing at a computer terminal.  The front wall was mostly windows, the shades closed to keep the hot midday sun out, and the back wall was covered in photographs as well as artwork.  The artwork was almost a surprise until Carmilla remembered that Great Bay was co-founded by a gold rider who was Harper-trained until she was Searched. 

 

Perry and Lafontaine worked silently for near half an hour before the whine of the terminal’s attached printer started up.

 

“How many Turns since we found Landing and they can’t make printers that are decorous, I swear,” Perry muttered. She glared at her weyrmate, cutting Lafontaine off, “And no you may _not_ build one.  I need you to upgrade the entire computer system instead.”  Gathering up the printouts, Perry also scooped up a pile of folders from the nearest file cabinet that she then carefully set on the table. “I’ve entered all your people into our database.  I’ve got weyr assignments here,” she tapped the printouts, “as well as our normal welcoming pack.  It’s geared to our Candidates, honestly, but it’s got a decent map, a directory of where the different weyr offices and crafthalls are, and an illustrated guide to the local plants, insects, and animals to avoid that Lafontaine put together, since we’re getting so many Northern dragonriders.  Your people probably won’t need that, though.”  She separated out two other sheets, “Your two weyrlings, I’ve got their schedules here.  I’ll introduce you to our Weyrlingmaster, and you can bring them to her after they arrive, if that’s acceptable.”

 

Carmilla nodded, cautious.  Southern’s weyrlingmaster had been a grumpy, grouchy older man, and she expected the same from Great Bay, even if the person holding the job was a woman.

 

Lafontaine laid a gentle hand on Perry’s arm. “And that’s probably just about what she can handle right now, Perr.  Why don’t you get back to what you were doing, and I’ll take Carmilla to her weyr.” 

 

Perry nodded, her smile brittle but real. “Of course.  Truly, welcome, Carmilla.”

 

They all rose from their seats at the table, Perry to return to the workstation and Lafontaine grabbed one of Carmilla’s packs before ushering her out the door.

 

“You’ll have to forgive Perry.  She’s a little high strung these days,” they said, leading Carmilla across the bowl towards the older section of the weyr. They started to climb up the many steps that led into the larger individual weyrs, all of which seemed to overlook the bay below.

 

At Southern, Carmilla had lived in an incredibly cramped weyr, one that faced north and caught the gale-force winds during storm season. Larhalth had had to duck to enter and had no room to stretch as the space was designed for a green dragon – in fact, a green dragon and her rider had been moved out to give it to Carmilla. The human room had been dark and dusty, the furniture one step from the junkheap.  By contrast, the weyr Lafontaine showed her into was large, airy, and bright, with a bank of windows allowing the long afternoon sun in. There was a comfortable-looking bed, a table with chairs, wardrobe, and a small bookshelf.  Sturdy hooks near the large doorway between human and dragon spaces were perfect for her flight gear.  A simple woven tapestry depicting a geometric pattern was the only decoration on the walls.  The dragon space was sizeable, perfect for her Larhalth with fresh warm sand thick on the floor.

 

Lafontaine carefully set the pack they’d been carrying onto her new bed.  “If there’s anything you need to settle in, let me know.  You have about an hour before dinner to unpack. How about afterwards I give you a tour?  I’ll come get you for the meal and introduce you to our Weyrlingmaster.”

 

She nodded, already exhausted despite the fact that it was only late afternoon.  She’d underestimated the energy it took to start acclimating to a new weyr and meeting new people, however much they were less annoying than her fellow riders at Southern.  She dumped the packs she’d hauled up the stairs onto the bed as well and hung up her flight jacket on the nearest hook. 

 

“See you then!”  Lafontaine waved as they left, shutting the door behind them.

 

The first thing she did was slip out of the too-hot leather riding pants she had on.  Though the Council Room was cool, she had since climbed several flights of stairs while carrying her things.  There was a pitcher and basin set outside the small watercloset - she’d have to ask where the bathing room was, but having her own toilet was wonderful in itself.  Luckily the water appeared fresh, and she was able to sponge off her sweat.

 

Pulling out her beltknife, she cut the cords that wrapped around her packs.  She redressed in more comfortable clothes and soft boots.  Within a few more minutes, all her clothes hung in the wardrobe, her small collection of books were shelved, and the few odd personal belongings she owned were stowed away.  All that was left was the large, worn quilt she’d taken from Ell’s room after her fellow dragonrider had died from the fever.  Made by Ell’s mother shortly after she was Searched, it had been on the bed – or shoved to the floor – for most of the best times Carmilla could remember.

 

She was still bitter about how her girlfriend had been sent running errands to a Crafthall that had been infected with the fever. She was also fairly sure her mother had assigned Ell that errand on purpose.  Ell had gone off to bring something to the Master Craftsman, stayed to help when he collapsed against her spitting up blood, and been infected herself.  She’d never come back, as the Healers had declared quarantine immediately.  Ell’s dragon Sinmith had kept in contact with her Larhalth for much of Ell’s brief illness, the both of them trying to support the brown from a distance while Ell drifted in and out of lucidity.  Sinmith had let them know Ell was dead with a grief-stricken mental scream before jumping _Between_.

 

Shaking her head at the awful memories, her heart still sore and aching at Ell’s death, Carmilla fluffed the quilt and laid it carefully over the bed.  She didn’t sleep much anyways.


End file.
